“No doubt of it,” said Rupert with a smile, “but you see she was fortunate enough to be sent to England.”
“Blackwater is good enough for me,” said Patricia, a certain stubborn hostility in her tone.
“I have always thought the Blackwater High School an excellent institution,” said her mother quickly, “especially for boys.”
“Yes, indeed, for boys,” replied Stillwell, “but for young ladies—well, there is something in an English school, you know, that you can't get in any High School here in Canada.”
“Rot!” ejaculated Patricia.
“My dear Patricia!” The mother was quite shocked.
“Pardon me, Mother, but you know we have a perfectly splendid High School here. Father has often said so.”
Her mother sighed. “Yes, for boys. But for girls, I feel with Rupert that you get something in English schools that—” She hesitated, looking uncertainly at her elder daughter.
“Yes, and perhaps lose something, Mamma,” said Adrien quietly. “I mean,” she added hastily, “you lose touch with a lot of things and people, friends. Now, for instance, you remember when we were all children, boys and girls together, at the Public School, Annette was one of the cleverest and best of the lot of us, I used to be fond of her—and the others. Now—”
“But you can't help growing up,” said Rupert, “and—well, democracy is all right and that sort of thing, but you must drift into your class you know. There's Annette, for instance. She is a factory hand, a fine girl of course, and all that, but—”